Eyes Wide Open
by Lisp
Summary: When Maka and Soul infiltrate a suspicious gathering posing as wealthy and engaged aristocrats, they uncover a human organisation obsessed with the theory that Shibusen's alliance with the witches is being used to create a race of super-human warriors which will take over the world. This triggers a battle to retain the peace - but only one side can end up the apex predator. SoMa.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: **__I do not own Soul Eater or 'Eyes Wide Open' by Gotye._

_The cover image for this story is taken from the Soul Eater manga, and is therefore owned by Atsushi Ohkubo and Gangan. _

_This story is rated M for swearing, violence, gore and sexual references. It will also contain spoilers for the manga, as it is set almost a year after Chapter 113._

_The pairing for this story is dominantly SoMa, but allusions to Tsu*Star will likely be used as well, and mentions of other relationships may be included._

_Enjoy._

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><p><strong>EYES WIDE OPEN<strong>

**by Lisp.**

**-  
><strong>_But it was like to stop consuming is to stop being human,  
>And why would I make a change if you won't?<br>We're all in the same boat, staying afloat for the moment.  
>- <em>'_Eyes Wide Open_', Gotye.

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><p><strong>I – A Thickening Plot and a Man in a Coat<strong>

* * *

><p>Maka Albarn does not define a normal day in the same way that other girls her age are likely to. She does not factor in trivial things such as shopping trips with her friends or television shows that run at a particular time slot, and the regular concerns that a girl of seventeen holds are not in her mind when she goes through her almost-daily routine.<p>

For Maka, it is a normal day as she runs down a different dark street, glancing over her shoulder with narrowed green eyes as if her acidic glare will be enough to take down the monstrous, loping obscenity behind her. Maybe she shouldn't say _day_ – she's been taking it in turns between hunting and being the hunted by this particular tainted soul since the afternoon began, and the panting sun has long since given up maintaining any sense of pride, slipping well beneath the horizon. The moon has risen to take its place, although this does not do anybody much good and is barely worth noticing anymore. The madly grinning face that used to occupy the night skies has been nothing but a mass of Black Blood for just under a year now, and the world is _still_ trying to become accustomed to relying on nothing but street lights or the perpetual blackness of the night air when taking an evening stroll.

Not that the dark is hindering Maka at the moment – if anything it's helping; she has her Soul Perception to guide her way while the walking deformity on her heels is going off of scent and sound alone. She's leading the idiotic being towards a dead-end street to ensure that it will be far away from any late-wandering civilians at the time of its demise. They're so close now, she can practically _taste _it; the way her blade will arc gracefully through the purpled and oozing flesh of this demonic thing, shearing away all forms of life, until it comes free and the body becomes nothing more than a floating blue light before a bricked-up wall. An easy victory is as tangible as an upcoming one.

There is the street she needs to turn onto, and as her bright eyes land on it, they seem to spark even more with the thrill of the chase. She would not exchange this life for any other, no matter how much her own lacks most of the usual teenage necessities – _social experiences, family life, romance_. Not when her opponent is letting out a low growl and taking the bait as easily as she'd wished and her scythe is thrumming warmly in her hands to the beat of her wavelength. He is rather quiet at this particular moment, and it takes Maka a moment to figure out why. He must still be affecting the audio of the tainted soul to throw it off from attacking them. Sure enough, if she focuses hard enough, she can hear the light tinkle of piano keys and a gravelly, impatient Oni at the back of her head like a memory playing behind her eyes. With a smile, Maka expertly jumps from the cobblestone road to the pavement. The charging monstrosity continues running forward before turning to face her, a sharp grin on its grotesque mimicry of a face.

It is a particularly ugly one, this time – almost too far gone to be recognisable as a human being. What must once have been brown, waved hair is now a collective bunch of rotting and knotted strands plastered either side of a round head. A nose that might have been Roman and strong once juts out like a snout, the end drooping in a curl to block the view of the mouth. Not the teeth though; those poke out of flaked and far-too-stretched-out lips like miniature tombstones, some crooked and a large majority permanently stained with the pinkish hue left behind by blood. The eyes are black pits, glossed like a shark's, dwelling too deeply in the pouches of skin that swell like a parody of eye-sockets. Everything about the tainted soul's head is swollen or disproportionate, like a Picasso painting. The colour palette only exacerbates things. The skin of the creature has taken on the appearance associated with asphyxiation or drowning – a mottled bluish purple that draws the eye and repulses the senses. What was once probably a full-chested and well-sculpted torso is now compact and horizontal rather than vertical, and the two arms are down like a dog's front paws to support the small body and gigantic head. The two back legs seem to have sprouted sharp bones which can be used to slice at things with a well-placed kick. As the tainted soul lets its gruesome lips part to reveal that sickening smile, Maka feels her stomach roll and her eyes narrow.

"Would you look at that? It almost makes Black*Star in the early morning look like a Calvin-Klein guy."

The warm metal in her palms seems to throb for a moment, almost like it is chuckling. Which it probably is as a cool voice echoes in her mind, right by her temple. _"Nothing could ever make his early-morning look okay, Maka. Trust me – you haven't stayed over at Kilik's place and had the job of waking him up at six-thirty."_

She shudders, imagining the woes he must have gone through on that particular adventure. "I wouldn't be able to stomach that. Don't give me mental images," she adds as she feels her partner preparing to make another comment.

_"Damn_," he mutters, _"am I that predictable?"_

Her witty response is cut off as the tainted soul tips its head back and lets out a loud noise somewhere between a wail and a roar. Maka winces slightly, her ears ringing, and realises that the sounds of the piano must be enraging it. This is good – angry enemies make for stupid enemies most of the time. Just as the creature begins to lurch towards her on its horrible spindly legs, she duck-rolls towards a set of crates up against the bricks and it follows her idiotically, trying to throw in a few good swipes while it's at it. She _tsk_s at the sloppy move before she hears that metallic voice again, telling her to hurry up and get her ass into gear so they can end this.

Honestly, Maka thinks as she closes her eyes and welcomes his soul wavelength into hers, seeing a bright burst of light from behind her lids as she starts her swing off of pure muscle memory, she could not agree more.

The body is separated in one graceful swing, with the Warlock Hunter carving straight through flesh and bulbous facial features. She does not look too closely at the reddish-brown splattered _goo_ that has accumulated on the bricks; the smell is enough to tell her exactly what it is. She is more preoccupied with the white-blue orb, glowing somewhat innocently now in the dark night air. It is the brightest spot in her line of vision until the scythe in her palm gives one last shudder and flies from her grip, as if it has turned into water or heavy gas. This transition is coupled by a brighter bolt, and the light quickly gathers and forms a shape that she's very familiar with.

Soul stretches out his arms, rotating his shoulders as his form solidifies instantly, and yawns. He follows up the motion by the characteristic tousle of his white hair, pushing it away from crimson eyes as he glances over at Maka with his sharp-toothed grin.

"Took you long enough," he teases.

She bristles. "Shut up! You aren't the one who had to chase after the stupid thing for the entire evening."

"That's because," Soul replies with a roll of the eyes and a flick to her arm, "I'm the pretty one, so I can't get all sweaty and gross from running."

"Whatever. Just grab the soul, will you?"

"I miss easy missions, you know?" he says as he plucks the soul out of the air, regarding it for a minute before placing it into his pocket gingerly. "It seems like all we do is help out with the regulation of rogue witches and territory skirmishes nowadays."

Maka smiles, reminiscing of their old work and the way everything seemed so simple when they were younger. "The good times, huh?"

"I wonder why Kid decided to change it up this time and send us on an actual mission, considering it wasn't difficult in the slightest."

She ponders, feeling satisfied with their quick and efficient work. "Well, _someone _has to do the dirty work, right? And it sure isn't going to be Kid – he'd throw a fit if any type of dirt got on that cloak of his."

"True. Speaking of, do you reckon that keeping this thing in here," - he gestures to the iridescent orb in his leather jacket – "is going to leave any residue or crap in my pocket? Because if so, I'm gonna' kill that Shinigami."

"It won't. You're worse than a woman when it comes to your clothes, I swear. Besides, I'm sure there's a good reason why Kid asked us to preserve this soul rather than allowing you to devour it."

"Hmm."

"You're pissed off that you can't eat it, aren't you? Well, maybe it's a good thing – eating too many of those things just _can't_ be good for a person's diet, and you'll need to keep in tip-top shape if you're supposed to be the _pretty one_."

"Funny," he retorts drily, but the smirk does not fade. "So can we go home?"

Maka is about to leave the dead-end block when she feels it. It makes her stop in her tracks, her eyes lightening to a verdant shade of green as she senses the slight spark. Soul is not expecting her to halt, and while he normally would have picked up on her sudden hesitation, he's tired and so he keeps walking, comically running into her back.

"Hey, you good?"

When she doesn't answer immediately, his jokingly irritated tone disappears and he moves to stand in front of her and scope out her face. While she is partly cringing for the instant panic she's causing him – because this is the kind of thing she does whenever a bad situation arises, and Crona is lodged into the back of her brain – most of her attention has been captured by the twinge of the wavelength she can feel nearby. It's almost _too_ close to them; surely, if a soul were to be near the dead-end street while they fought, they would have noticed the sounds of the creature and the Resonance. Yet this particular wavelength . . . it hasn't even stirred in fear at the din. It even sounds _intrigued,_ in some sort of off way. In fact, the entire sound is wrong. It's not a witch or a tainted soul, it's normal. But there's something _dark,_ something _excited . . ._

She is about to hone in on this troubling soul before her partner gives her a light shake. She can see the transition in his face from joking to starting to freak out, and while her attention is captured by the almost endearing way that his eyebrow arcs towards his hairline more on the right side than it does on the left, the curious soul fades away. Maka blinks twice, using her ability once more, but now the nearest wavelength is two blocks away, in a hotel room and _particularly _enjoying the company of a woman who has consumed enough alcohol to find him a worthy suitor for the night to come. She cringes before she can look too deeply into their situation and sighs, peeking up at Soul through her bangs.

"Yeah, false alarm," she mutters, and when his hackles drop only slightly, she rolls her eyes and pushes past him. "I thought I sensed something, but it might be a stray cat or something."

The relief shows in his burgundy eyes immediately and he chuckles, running a hand through his long white fringe. "Well, then, we should probably bail before it decides to come home and live with us, hey?"

This draws a laugh out of her and she allows the mysterious feeling in the back of her head to simply dissolve as she grabs Soul's arm and tugs him towards the bright lights of the main street ahead. "Good plan, and let's hurry." When he enquires, she merely shudders and puts a hand over her face. "When you're in the seedy back-lots of a city like this at night, Soul Perception isn't exactly a gift."

It takes a moment for him to comprehend just what she's saying, but when it clicks she can see it on his face and he flinches, patting her sympathetically on the shoulder as he falls into step beside her. "I know you say that we should share everything for the sake of our wavelengths and all that jazz, but sometimes it'd be nicer if you just keep those thoughts _up here_," he chuckles, his hand lightly brushing her temple. She reddens and swats his touch away, stalking forwards and missing the way that he smiles fondly rather than smirks as he lengthens his stride to keep up with her.

And when they pass the man in the thick coat leaning against the brick wall of the sleazy strip club not two minutes later, they do not even glance at him, too wrapped up in their own world and the familiar and missed high of a successful kill. But the man notices them. He watches them with narrowed eyes as they walk, noting the light flecks of blood on the girl's hemline and the slight bulge in the boy's jacket pocket where an unconsumed soul is surely resting and waiting to be sent to Shinigami-sama for analysis or storage, or something equally sinister. He sees it all, and when the meister and weapon turn the corner with quick steps and light, bickering words, he pulls out his mobile phone and types in a number, his lips quirking at the side. Maybe now that he's got this over and done with, he can finally enter the establishment and enjoy himself a little more _pleasurably_ for the rest of the night. He hates playing scout, but the pay-off for this will be well worth his time.

He doesn't question why his employer has suddenly become so interested in the world of meisters and magical weapons, but as long as he's being paid by the hour to watch out for any Shibusen students in his city, he'll sit out here and play watchdog for as long as the big man wants. When the call goes through, he can't hide the smirk on his face.

"Yeah, sir, no doubt about it – that was definitely a pair of 'em. And guess what? I think your hunch was right, 'coz the guy wasn't eatin' up that glowin' thing like they say they do – he was storin' it in his pockets and it looks like he ain't gonna' be eatin' it any time soon."

The voice on the other end of the line is smooth and obviously pleased. "_Excellent._ _You've done well – your pay will be sent to you directly in the morning, stored in the usual place. I have the mind to add an extra piece of compensation, too, for your observations."_

The man in the coat nods to himself and his sleazy smile stretches to engulf the rest of his face. An extra amount of pay means he can _really _enjoy his night when he enters the club. "So, does this mean you were right 'bout all that shit then?" he can't help but ask.

His employer pauses before answering and for a moment he thinks he's just lost his bonus. But the reply sounds more satisfied than last time when it comes. _"We can't be sure yet. But I believe that Shibusen is not all that it appears to be, and if you continue your work to this standard . . . the Shinigami may just have some answering to do."_

The smooth voice is still chuckling when the line dies and the man decides to head inside, not resisting the allure of the club and its dancers any longer, and unaware of the consequences of his decision to work this kind of job for a little easy cash.

* * *

><p>The porcelain mask on his face does not bob at all as Kid nods while he examines the glowing blue sphere in his palm. After a few seconds of turning it over to make an initial hypothesis on it, he nods again in satisfaction and a moment later it has disappeared, likely stored for later speculation.<p>

Maka does her best to stifle a yawn as she rubs out her eyes. The trip back to Death City had not taken long as they had travelled mostly by jet, but there had been a hold-up when she and Soul had come across a mugging going through the Strip in Las Vegas. They'd intervened, of course, but the woman whom they'd saved seemed more frightened of Soul's blade arm than the idea of being shoved against a wall while the dirty thief took her possessions. She'd screamed bloody murder, and of course _that_ had attracted a nearby officer's attention while the mugging had gone completely unnoticed by all but the scythe and meister. The blonde's temples are still aching slightly, the sounds of the uncouth late-night floozy still ringing in her eardrums.

Beside her, Soul is not nearly so patient and willing to conceal his tiredness. He growls and crosses his arms, regarding Kid with the ill temper that his tired persona is renowned for. "Well?" he grinds out, finally drawing the Shinigami's attention. "You call us over here and tell us that you need that soul right away, like we weren't already coming, and then you just look at it instead of telling us what's going on? Come on, Kid, I'm tired. Cut the shit."

Maka is glad that her father is finished duty for the night and not currently taking up his post beside Kid as Shinigami-sama. If he were, an argument would surely be breaking out right now; Spirit Albarn loves four things in life, which are Maka, _supposedly _her mother, whiling away his time chasing everything with no Y chromosomes, and getting Soul into trouble for anything possible. Insulting their ruler is usually a good choice, although Kid defends that as long as the scythe doesn't start to step out of line, he really couldn't care less.

The Reaper clears his throat and pulls his mask back, revealing his golden eyes and the black hair striped with three solid rings of white. "Suspense is an important element of any drama, idiot. I needed this soul retrieved because it has developed a rather interesting quality – one that interests Mabaa-sama."

"I swear to . . . I don't know, _Black*Star_, 'coz swearing to _you _while talking to you is weird," her partner hisses, and the groan is practically audible in his short words, "that I will _kill_ you if you decide to send us on another four-day conference trip with the witches after this."

Kid sighs ruefully. "I told you that I'm sorry about that! I had no other choice – it was an emergency, we needed a Death Scythe, and the current one was too intoxicated to make the journey."

"Don't put too much faith in my Papa," Maka mutters with crossed arms. "Anyway, what's the quality that interests the witches so much? As far as I could sense, this soul wasn't any different to any other tainted wavelengths."

"I see nothing strange with it either, but Mabaa-sama has pointed out that the mission target used to mix in the world of the Occult, and it is always a concern when a human who has become interested in the world of magic suddenly starts to consume human souls. Apparently, before this girl went off the path, she tried to contact witches and discover the secrets to gaining magical abilities and becoming one herself. And that's not all she was up to, either."

"But you can't just _become_ a witch," Soul says in confusion. "You have to be born one. Doesn't everyone know that?"

"You're forgetting that the outside world doesn't exactly receive the Shibusen education on these matters."

Maka nods. "True, but still. It's not possible to become a magic wielder when you're a human. Sure, you can affiliate yourself with magical tools and gain witches as allies. Maybe they can even lend you power. But you can't become a witch, or anything of the kind, unless you're born into it or you're influenced by something extremely strong. And that would probably take your sanity."

"Yes – and the target didn't seem too _sane_ when you two fought it, I presume?"

She is brought up short by this. Her brain is too addled and her headache too pressing to think of an intelligent reply. Soul says nothing either, but this is likely because he is pondering the information that they have just been given.

"So, what do we do about it, then?" he asks after a sufficient lull in the conversation. "Are we gonna' investigate whether this woman found something Occult-related that made her completely snap while she was trying to gain power? Or are we just going to let the witches deal with it?"

"Mabaa-sama and I have had a consultation prior to the soul's retrieval, and although it needs to be examined before we can do anything serious," Kid replies, and he does not sound too thrilled at the prospect of the long work, "we _have_ decided that one of our best teams should be dispatched immediately to investigate the source of the target's madness, in case it is something that may spread or affect the witch-realm."

"Why, was the target involved in something else suspicious right before she changed?" Maka asks, scratching her head and accidentally pulling hair from her pigtails in her tired state. However, her fatigue cannot curb her growing interest. If what Kid is saying is true, and this woman has been involved in any Occult practices which might have led her to lose her sanity, then this has the potential to become a serious problem.

The Shinigami bobs his head once quickly, turning his back on them to retrieve a file from the low table behind him. From behind, Soul gives him a particularly nasty look that causes her to bite her lip in order to restrain her giggles. The moment is only increased when Kid turns back and her partner has completely schooled his face back to normal.

"Here we are," he says, oblivious to the scythe's antics. "This is the file of Karen Salt, the target. It's not really worth looking at in most aspects, but there was one thing that did particularly draw my attention apart from the mentions of her Occult interests." He passes the manila folder to Maka, who takes it immediately and flicks through photos and copies of birth certificates until she finds a page listing the woman's recent activities.

She is quickly scanning the page for anything useful when it catches her eye – a sidenote made by a friend of the deceased soul about an organisation that she had mentioned before her disappearance and transformation. "The . . . _Independence_?" she reads out, the name of the group sounding odd on her tongue.

Soul leans over her shoulder to peer at the folder's contents, and she can feel the seizure of interest in his usually neutral wavelength, despite his sleepiness and ire. Kid smiles at her ability to immediately pick up the important words on the page. "Yes, that's what we wanted to make an enquiry about. It seems that this group has been popping up in quite a few unrelated incidents lately, and we're trying to figure out whether they have anything to do with this scenario."

"So, what, you're trying to figure out if it's another _Star Clan_ situation?" she asks, flipping to the next page to try and gather more information and receiving a swat in the arm from the still-reading Soul in reply.

Kid shakes his head. "I don't expect anything that drastic, but as Mabaa-sama wishes to find some leads into this particular case and ensure that the witch realm isn't going to be affected by the turn of events, we've agreed that it _is_ the best idea to send our highly-skilled team in to take a look around."

"Good idea," Maka seconds, but she can feel Soul stiffen simultaneously. When she turns to face him, confused, he is glaring at Kid with narrowed burgundy eyes and his face is set into an irked scowl.

"Oh, man, I fucking _hate_ you right now," he mutters darkly, further confusing her. Kid raises his hands defensively, but there is an apologetic look on his face.

"Really, given the circumstance, it's the most reasonable conclusion and the best fit for the assignment," the Shinigami says, but his tone is repentant already. "And seeing as there aren't any pressing missions at the moment besides this . . ."

She sighs, lost due to her weary brain and headache. "Okay, hold up, what are you two on about?"

Soul just sighs and turns to her, his face unamused, and suddenly it clicks in her brain. "Maka," he says evenly, "correct me if I'm wrong, but this feels an awful lot like a debriefing, doesn't it?"

"Don't tell me . . ."

He nods. "Guess who the _highly-skilled team_ going to check this outis?"

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><p><strong>I just thought I should make the note that in the manga, tainted souls don't appear red or have the scaled appearance like a 'Kishin Egg.' They're still blue and normal-looking.<strong>

**I've never written a story like this or in this style before, so it will be exciting. Enjoy. I will update this within the week of the last chapter, usually quicker, unless extraordinary circumstances ensue.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I do not own Soul Eater or 'Eyes Wide Open' by Gotye.**

* * *

><p><strong> EYES WIDE OPEN<strong>

**by Lisp.**

**-  
><strong>_But it was like to stop consuming is to stop being human,  
>And why would I make a change if you won't?<br>We're all in the same boat, staying afloat for the moment.  
>- <em>'_Eyes Wide Open_', Gotye.

* * *

><p><strong> II – It Isn't Treason if You Look the Other Way<strong>

* * *

><p>Soul narrows his eyes as he stares at his black suitcase. It is sitting at the foot of the couch rather innocently, the handle raised and waiting for him as he ties up the laces on his sneakers. Maka sighs as she watches his scowl deepen, fiddling with the zip of her own suitcase. If she is being honest, she is just as hesitant and unwilling to go on this assignment as he is. Sure, she'd been complaining that their work had started to revolve entirely around the witch community and keeping the peace between the two sides, but that doesn't mean that she wants to be doing something like <em>this<em>.

The practical part of the mission itself really doesn't sound that bad to her. They are to go to Cambridge in England, and gain as much information on this _Independence_ group as they can without their motives and identities being discovered. It will essentially be a very important, but simple, infiltration and observation mission. They only have to stay for a weekend, too, which is much shorter than most of the observatory assignments that Death Scythes generally take on. It won't be a particularly difficult job to pull off.

It's even been very well planned-out. The reason that Kid knows to send them to Cambridge for their assignment is due to the fact that he and Mabaa-sama have combined forces to unearth any available resources on this group.

The results have been interesting, to say the least – it seems that the group is interested in both the destructive magic and Occult elements of the witches, and the powerful bonds of the meisters and weapons throughout the world. They are a human establishment that views the dependence the human race has on Shibusen as potentially dangerous, and therefore stands up for the right for humans to protect themselves against tainted souls instead of relying on meisters and weapons. This is enough to pique the interest of the Shinigami and Grand Witch, and their investigation has been very thorough as they search for any signs of a threat.

They discovered three days prior that the organisation is holding a soirée on the upcoming Saturday night in the English city to interest and attract new members. While Maka is slightly doubtful about the accuracy of the information – as it was sourced from an email invitation acquired through not-exactly-legal hacking – she can't deny that this is the perfect opportunity for her and Soul to sneak in and learn about _Independence_ without the fear of being ostentatious and arousing suspicion.

However, as with all forms of perfection, there is inevitably a catch. And this one is enough to snag them both down and stop them from showing any enthusiasm at all for an otherwise-welcomed change of pace.

* * *

><p><em>" . . . That's the plan, anyway," Kid tells them, smiling slightly at the fortunate turn of events. "All you have to do is work your way into that party and mingle around for a while until you can determine whether this group is anything sinister or simply a gathering of wealthy, upper-class people who seem to dislike our job of saving their ungrateful asses."<em>

_"That's going to be a problem though, isn't it? How are Soul and I going to manage to get into that soirée? For starters, our American accents will likely make us conspicuous unless there are lots of people from all over," Maka points out. "Also, we're a meister and Death Scythe, the very thing that this organisation is against. How can we fool everyone into thinking that we're interested in overpowering Shibusen's right to protect us?"_

_Soul nods alongside her, thinking. "The way we act and talk might be an issue, too – trust me, I grew up attending these kinds of things and you can tell if a person isn't upper-class straight away."_

_"Wait; how do you even know everybody will be upper-class?"_

_"Do middle-class establishments use the word _'soirée' _in their invitations?" he queries rhetorically. "Well, I don't think I'm gonna' have too much trouble with the blending-in thing, but we're going to have to control your temper and make sure you don't blow our cover."_

_"I _will_ hit you, idiot."_

_"That's my point; it'll be kind of _'conspicuous'_ when you whip out a dictionary by the punch bowl and try to bash my head in without staining your fancy dress with my blood."_

_"Maka – _Chop!_"_

_"Aw, _fuck me._"_

_"Pass," she grins maliciously, observing the dint in his skull with satisfaction and ignoring his weak protests that that was 'not what he meant and she knows it.' "That might be another problem, though. We'll get caught out unless we've got a proper back-story set up before we enter into this thing."_

_Kid nods, but he looks slightly uncomfortable now, as if he wished the conversation lasted longer so that they would not have to get to this point. "Yes, well, I had . . . considered that and have, er . . . come up with a solution."_

_"Written us a full history so we can crash the party?" Soul asks as he shakes his head, ensuring that he won't collapse in a state of unconsciousness any time soon due to her powerful blow. _

_Again, the Shinigami seems to be dreading the direction the conversation is going in, but he manages to reply, "Well, not exactly."_

_"What do you mean? We have to have some kind of cover!" Maka protests. "Don't tell me you're going to make us think up our own when we leave in three days!"_

_"No, I've got the story sorted out. You just . . . well, you aren't going to like it."_

_Soul snorts. "Kid, I'm gonna' have to spend my weekend re-living my entire childhood with a heap of conspiracy-fuelled weirdoes. I don't think it can really get any worse, so just spill it."_

_"All right," the black-haired Death God agrees, taking a deep breath. "In order to set up your back-story, I had to fabricate some documents, in case you need to be researched or you're asked for I.D. and personal information. It's all been included in the folder I'll be supplying you with upon your departure, as well as copies of your procured invitations to the event and the way you heard about it. All of this will be sufficient to get you in."_

_"And?"_

_"That means this plan is already set in stone, okay? No matter how much you don't like it."_

_"For the love of Death," Maka mutters impatiently, ignoring the fact that she's technically addressing Kid with his own title as a curse, "would you please get on with it?" His position as Shinigami-sama notwithstanding, their entire group still treats him like they would normally, had he not taken over as Death God. The fact that he is technically their ruler hasn't changed the way they address him. Besides, she is feeling slightly short-tempered already._

_Kid looks nervous for his life now and unconsciously steps back from them. Something in Maka's stomach is churning and she knows that this must really be bad if he's this jumpy. "You and Soul will be keeping your names, as it will be easier to remember your parts without pseudonyms thrown in. The fact that you are an Evans, Soul, will also come in useful because the surname will likely be recognised in high society. The risk here is that someone may recognise _you_, as you are a Death Scythe, and there may be upper-class families there of whom you already know. You have to make sure that they do not remember you."_

_"Don't tell me we have to wear disguises." Her partner's groan makes her laugh inwardly. Personally, she likes the idea of secret aliases and sneaking around. It makes her feel like a protagonist in a mystery novel. He, evidently, does not share the sentiment._

_Kid smirks. "No, as an Evans, your hair will be recognisable. Fortunately for us, you haven't been around such people in over five years and I doubt your weapon heritage will be well-known anyway."_

_"Yeah," Soul says with a half laugh. "It's slightly uncouth, having one prodigal-musician son and one giant butter-knife son. Not a good conversation starter. I imagine I'm probably 'away at some sort of elite school', as far as everyone is concerned."_

_Maka lays her hand on his arm away from Kid's line of sight. He has a joking tone, but she knows that this admission must hurt him, and the corner of his mouth briefly twitches at her silent offer of comfort. However, their moment is ruined when the Shinigami continues his debriefing._

_"Well, now that issue is sorted, I suppose I should tell you exactly why you're going to be in Cambridge, interested in the weapon-meister debate," he professes, and this causes him to wring his hands together in an anxious afterthought of a gesture. "Right, so . . ."_

_"Kid, you're kind of freaking me out here," Soul sighs._

_"Sorry. All right, so the story is this. You, Maka, have lost your mother as a casualty of the Kishin Asura's spread of madness. You are infuriated with Shibusen's lack of control over the situation and want to have the humans in power rather than weapons and meisters so that these kinds of scenarios can be dealt with properly, rather than allowing precious human lives to go to waste. Soul, you've been raised in high society, so I'm sure you know exactly how people of good pedigree tend to react to what they think of as 'impurities' or 'degenerates.' You are under the impression that humans are the superior race when it comes to intellect and skill, so you should be solving your own problems instead of looking like a weak sub-branch with no powers that have to rely on the older siblings of Shibusen to protect you. You also consider weapon blood to be an impurity, and dislike the fact that so much power is given to Shinigami-sama and his minions."_

_"Oh my Death," Soul mutters. "I'm going to be acting my own aunt and uncle – I swear you could have taken that out of their rich-stationary journals."_

_The hand she has on his arm gives it a slight squeeze and he pats her shoulder surreptitiously to show that he isn't particularly affected and is purely stating facts that he accepted long ago. With concern for her partner out of the way, Maka smiles. "You know, that's actually really impressive. It will be hard to insult meisters and weapons when I've grown up surrounded by them, but otherwise I think we can pull this off pretty easily. Besides, I'll get to see Soul's acting skills!"_

_"Ha, ha," Soul retorts drily. "So, is that it then? We just have to act like snobby brats who have stumbled across this wonderful group promoting ideas that we've rooted into our own stupid, rotting brains?" He truly does sound bitter. She has to remember that he's spent six years escaping this lifestyle and his childhood, while extravagant and filled with the comfort of an excellent upbringing, hadn't been a very good time for him. The mission will probably be like one awful trip down memory lane. _

_"Yes, basically," Kid confirms, adjusting the tie-around on his thick black cloak. _

_"Oh, one more thing," her partner asks, causing her to glance at him. She thought they'd covered everything. "How do Maka and I know each other, for these alter-egos?"_

_"Ah . . . Well – I really couldn't think of anything that would allow you to be able to stay close to each other and interact with each other for the entire night without looking conspicuous, so I gained Liz's help for ideas and . . . honestly, she was the one to think of it, not me. But it seemed like a very good idea and so we went with it, and it's in the documents now so we can't change it."_

_"Just spit it out, will you?"_

_"I'm getting there – so, the plan is that you and Maka are . . . engaged."_

_" . . . Huh?"_

_"I said, 'you and Maka are engaged.' As in, to be married."_

_"Oh."_

_" . . . Hey, Soul?" she asks._

_"Yeah?"_

_"If I Chop a Death God, does that technically count as treason?"_

_"Not if I look the other way, it doesn't."_

_"Good – then look at that obvious distraction over there for a minute, would you?"_

_"Got it."_

* * *

><p>She should probably be less flustered about this entire ordeal, but the thought of acting as Soul's fiancée, even for one night, seems like a horrendous and impossible feat. Is she comfortable being around him? Of course. Are they both going to be able to do this knowing that it is their duty in their assignment and nothing more? Easily. And yet, no matter how many times Maka assures herself of this fact, she can't help but keep coming back to the one problem.<p>

She's sort of in love with him, which means that _pretending_ to be in love with him without giving anything away to either him or the guests that they are meant to mingle among is going to be impossible to say the least.

How is she supposed to act? Her parents didn't have the best relationship while she was growing up – how do people who are in love and about to be married act, even when they _are_ narrow minded and haughty due to their high rank in society? She's going to need to make this whole thing seem convincing if they want to pull off this job. With every bit of information Kid or Mabaa-sama digs up, _Independence _is becoming more and more suspicious. It may be being influenced by a rogue witch or something of a potential Kishin's magnitude, which means that she can't afford to screw this up and lose any leads. If something bad is happening, it needs to be shut down before it can grow into anything worse.

But the consequences of failing the mission for the world are at the back of her mind. At the forefront is the consequences of letting Soul see exactly how she feels about him. She doesn't know how much she'll be able to brush off as just acting, because she's good at these kinds of things but impromptu isn't really her style – the infiltration of Baba Yaga's castle and the run-in with Giriko all those years ago is proof of that. She's no Liz or Patti Thompson, able to come up with a brilliant and devious plan on the spot. She needs time to think about how her decision will affect everything going on, and to plot out the best course of action. It's how her brain works.

Well, she's had three days, and she still hasn't gotten any brilliant courses of action to plot about how to act around Soul when they're supposed to be engaged.

_He_ seems completely unconcerned about the fact that they have to act like a betrothed couple. In fact, now his initial shock has worn away, she's pretty sure he's finding the entire situation funny. It will be easy for _him_ to do this, of course. His family life practically trained him for this moment, and he doesn't have any feelings for her past that of a very close friend and a partner to muddle him up mid-performance. His concerns and reluctance to take on this assignment stem from all of the unpleasant memories and trauma it is bound to stir up – he isn't going to be concerned with her finding out anything she shouldn't, as there is nothing to find out.

And that, there, is entirely the problem.

Soul scrubs a hand down his face resignedly before standing up and stretching, grabbing both of their suitcases without feeling the need to offer to carry hers. When she protests he just ignores her and asks her to grab his mobile phone off of the charger and his wallet off of the bench when they're walking out the door.

"Wait," she commands with one hand up, and his shoulders slouch as if it was only a matter of time before this happened. Which she knows that he knows it was. "Have we got everything?"

"Yes."

"Do we have all of our folders containing I.D. and the information we'll need for the mission?"

"Yep."

"Emergency mirror?"

"Yep."

"All the eveningwear and fancy things that we'll need for Saturday night?"

"Uh-huh."

"Necessary clothes and supplies?"

"Yeah."

"Toothbrush?"

"Yeah."

"Spare key set out for Blair in case she can't find hers after she gets home from work?"

"Check."

She pauses, trying to think of anything extremely important that they may have missed. "Passports and Shibusen identification for the jet?"

"You're literally holding that in your left hand right now," he deadpans before rolling his eyes. "We _have everything_. Now can we get going? The taxi probably isn't going to wait forever, and I've got half the mind to find a way to take these bags on my bike somehow."

Maka sighs and nods. "Okay, you're right. Let's go."

It is only once she has closed and locked the door and set off down the hallway that he sighs, drawing level with her and pausing. "You didn't get my phone off of the charger, did you?

" . . . Crap." If the handful of passports and their identification badges make contact with the back of his head on her way back to their door while he grins, she tells herself that it is not to shut up his low chuckles, and is purely an accident.

An accident that happens once again when she marches back past him with crossed arms, his phone and her earphones balled up in her fist to add to the weight of the blow.

* * *

><p>He has settled down beside her with his large blue headphones settled over his ears, and she can't help but laugh at his failed attempts to stifle his yawn whilst frowning at the same time. She doesn't blame him for being tired; they had to catch a jet from Death City to New York, which takes roughly five hours, and already the time zones are messing with her head. In order to keep up with the time zone shift, which pushes everything three hours forward, they had to depart for New York at seven in the morning, and it was already three in the evening at their destination when they arrived. While the Shibusen jets are usually used for any sort of mission to maintain efficiency, Maka had mentioned that their story might be more solid if they caught a commercial airline from New York to England, rather than a plane that had the insignia of all meisters and weapons on it. She is still regretting voicing this thought. It will be another seven hour flight to get to London from New York, and they will have to suffer through this one with the added curses of other passengers and the infamous screaming babies found only in supermarkets and on board aeroplanes.<p>

It was an hour's wait in the airport to board their flight to London, which was scheduled to depart at four-fifteen. It is now four-thirty. That means that they will arrive at London at eleven-thirty at night, but since there is another time shift of five hours between the two destinations, it will in reality by four-thirty on Friday morning in London when they set foot off the plane. With traffic, it will be an approximate hour and a half's drive to get from London to Cambridge, so in all likelihood they won't reach their destination until just after six the next morning, if they're lucky.

This trip is literally going to take them almost twenty-four hours in total, if time zones are just factored in as the time gaps for the trip. This makes Maka want to smash her face into the headrest in front of her, but then the old lady occupying it will likely give her a foul look and recline her seat for the entire trip.

At least she will have the ability to fall asleep and nap through the horrible experience. Her partner is not so lucky – she knows that Soul doesn't like aeroplanes. Something about the sensation of being in a big metal box gets to him, and it doesn't help that they're thousands of feet in the air. He prefers it when she wields him and they simply fly using his Death Scythe form. It is taxing on his wavelength, but at least then he is in control and not relying on other people to fly them safely. She also suspects due to the large areas of his childhood mansion and the setting of the Black Room that he doesn't do well being kept in confined spaces. Once the fact that he is stuck surrounded by unfamiliar people is thrown into the equation, this must be Hell for him.

If it isn't Hell now, it will be when the clocks and his body are telling him that he's pulled an all nighter, predominantly spent on an aeroplane. He will drive them from London to Cambridge as well, because he's been to England more times than her and he insists that he's a better driver, even in something as 'uncool' as a hire car – and as much as she hates so admit it, which is _a lot_, he might just be right.

"Can you do me a favour and kill me, _right now_?" he pleads with her in a low voice as he pulls out his iPod to select a song. He has two; an iPhone containing music and his iPod, so his battery life will at least not be a concern on this journey. When she shakes her head and pats his arm sympathetically, he moans and slumps in his seat with his head in his arms. "All right, but if blades start to shoot out of my skin with three hours to go, remember that you had the option."

"Are you just still upset because of the incident with the metal detector?" she jabs, grinning at the scowl that instantly mars his handsome face. "Don't look at me like that, it was hilarious!"

"I swear to Death, they shouldn't let fucking juniors man those freakin' metal-scanner things! I showed him my Shibusen identification, which _clearly _said I'm a weapon, and he totally didn't have any idea what the fuck he was doing. It's not like it's my fault I turn into a giant deadly metal blade and _apparently_ the airport security scanners aren't cool with that."

"You should have seen your face – I was worried you were going to try and lop his head off!"

He sighs, exhaling heavily through his nose. "I was considering it, honestly. Maybe that'll give these _Independence_ guys something to complain about, if I start chopping up random people who can't do their Death-damned jobs properly when it comes to weapon blood!"

"Don't talk so loud; if you keep going on about blades and killing people, the hostesses will get freaked out and call the airport security on you. _Again_." She can't help it, really. A moment ago she pitied him, but that look on his face is just _priceless_.

He growls and doesn't dignify her with a response, instead turning up his iPod and leaning back in his chair to look out the window. She figured when they boarded that he might as well get the window seat, for in a few hours' time he will be awake and she will not.

"You have to turn your iPod off while we take off, idiot," she mutters at him, snatching the device out of his hand. He pouts but concedes, giving up and slumping down in his seat. It is at times like this that she finds him his most adorable – around his friends he is a tough and cool guy most of the time, but around her he's comfortable enough to be his true self. This happens to most often be a whiny little rich kid with a temper problem.

The hostess is giving her usual demonstration – _don't try and jump out of the plane, here are the safety exits, the life-jacket has a light and a whistle for attracting attention, this device is called a seatbelt – _when Soul finally speaks again. Maka's eyes leave the pointed gestures of the brown-haired flight attendant, and she isn't surprised to see Soul scowling out the window already. But his words catch her off-guard.

"I can't wait for this whole thing to be over."

"It won't be _that_ bad," she tries to assure him. She doesn't want to be here either, but they can't both carry on like children or they're going to end up getting found out. "Just concentrate on playing a rich snob for a night! It might even be fun."

He snorts. "For you, maybe. I've done this before; I know how these things go. I just can't believe Kid stuck us on this assignment."

"Well, who else is he going to choose for it? Stop being such a downer – it'll be great to do some proper work after all of these skirmish control missions, right? And you'll only have to do it for one night before we can go home."

Soul doesn't want to acknowledge any part of this experience being enjoyable, but he concedes. "I guess you're right about the skirmish thing. We needed a change of pace. Besides," he mutters as the captain of the flight gives the instructions for the hostesses to 'please be seated for take-off', "it's going to be hilarious watching you pretend to be my _wifey_ for an entire evening."

"W-Hey! I'm technically not your 'wifey' yet, we're only engaged!" she protests, feeling her face heat up at his smirk. That stupid idiot always knows how to get her into a corner with the use of only one sentence. "And _don't_ think I won't call this wedding off if you're a dick about it the entire time."

"Now, now – is that any way for you to talk to your significant other?"

"Shut up!"

"Seriously though," he says with a fading chuckle as he sobers up, "we're going to have to be able to act like we're all _'in-love'_ and shit around all of these rich whack-jobs. Granted, upper class marriages are arranged sometimes and people don't always feel all gooey for each other in them, but we'll have to make it as solid as we can."

Her face is definitely still red and her pulse has quickened marginally, but she brushes it off with, "Nobody still does the whole _arranged marriage_ thing in our kind of society nowadays, do they?"

"In _our_ kind of society, no. But in theirs, it's still a thing. It isn't forced as badly as it used to be, but all the big families want to stay as purebloods, so they marry each other and make sure all their kids get the good connections."

"So," she ponders aloud, feeling the plane moving beneath her while it starts for the runway, "if you'd stayed with your family when you were a kid instead of moving to Death City, would you have to be in an arranged marriage?"

She really does mean it as a joke, but a cloud passes over his face and he shudders. This is enough of an answer before he even speaks. "I'm pretty sure they even had the family picked out, actually."

"Oh my Death, you're not serious."

"Serious as a stroke," he shoots back, but his usual grin doesn't accompany the sarcastic words and they bounce off her, meaningless. "It wasn't all fancy tea cups and mahogany tables."

"No, but you have to admit that _most_ of it was." She's trying to lighten the mood and it works, because he laughs and leans back in his seat once more, adjusting his monstrous headphones around his neck and turning his iPod around in his long pianist's fingers while he waits to be able to use it again.

His restored spirits last until they have taken off and she is starting to let her tiredness overcome her. When she is on the verge of sleep, she hears him muttering something like, "_Stupid metal crates and stupid fucking airport security can go die in a stupid giant hole."_ But no matter how harsh his words are, his deep voice is soothing and she can feel the rumble of it accompanying the sound of his wavelength in her chest. Ignoring his protests, she slumps onto him and that is when sleep takes her.

* * *

><p>She wakes only once, for the space of five minutes when the plane hits a particularly bad spot of turbulence. It rouses her off of her acquired position on Soul's shoulder and forearm, and he merely glances down at her before going back to fiddling with some sort of game on his iPod. She thinks he is playing <em>Fruit Ninja<em> and sighs, because if he's playing that then there will be no point having a conversation with him. His high-score on his iPod is somewhere around nine hundred, and on his iPhone it's a good deal better than that. She doesn't know how he does it, but he's even bested Black*Star on this game, and that's saying something.

The screen on the headrest of the chair in front of her shows a miniature digital map. They are roughly half-way there, and they have been in the air for three and quarter hours. No wonder her weapon has resorted to playing games on his iPod; he must have grown sick of watching the television sets installed into the headrests and decided to just entertain himself. _These types of trips must be so boring if you don't read,_ she thinks.

Because her book is too far out of her reach and she is too comfortable to really move much, she settles herself back down onto Soul. He doesn't even complain this time, merely moving his arm so that she can shift to a comfortable position on him. She is asleep very soon after.

He only wakes her when the plane lands and it happens accidentally because he has jolted with the plane as it hits the tarmac. He looks very tired and she can't really blame him. After all, she has slept through most of the trip and he hasn't been able to catch any rest at all by the looks of things. Maka shakes her head groggily, the last pieces of her dream floating away to distant memories behind her eyelids. She can't really recall what it had been about by this point – she was at the beach, and Kid was there complaining about an asymmetrical tan-line while he made a giant Shibusen-shaped sand castle. She was fairly sure that Patti and Tsubaki had made a brief appearance, too. And Soul had definitely been there, and for some reason he'd been a really good surfer. He hadn't looked too bad in his black swim-shots either, if he recalls. This is enough to motivate her to push off of his arm and sit up properly, smoothing down her tights and pulling her jacket closer around her thin shoulders.

"It's cold," she mutters. Soul has already put on his dark blue scarf and he is stretching out his legs, looking relieved at the concept of getting off the plane. "Did you get any sleep?"

"What do you think?" he deadpans, folding away his iPhone and headphone cables. His iPod battery must have thrown in the towel before they could land. "Come on, let's go. If I'm stuck on this thing any longer, I'm gonna' go crazy."

"'Crazy' as in _get really irritated_ or 'crazy' as in _start sprouting scythes from your arms and a glowing blade from your chest while you rampage through Heathrow Airport_?"

"Not funny, Albarn. That glowing-blade thing was like, nearly two years ago."

"Old memories die hard," she shoots back. "I still don't think you're forgiven for pulling my pigtails."

"You kicked me for that!"

"And I can kick you some more."

He moans, standing up and making his way down the aisle with her in tow. "Come on, Maka, I'm tired as fuck. If you're going to hit me, at least do it when I'm awake enough to register it."

"Are you going to be okay to drive?" she asks, concerned.

He nods wearily, saying that it will be better for him to drive than try to sleep and get overtired. She is surprised when they make it inside the airport and she sees the clocks. It is already five in the morning in London. The plane must have run late. Now, they probably won't reach the hotel in Cambridge until six-thirty, or even seven depending on the amount of traffic at this time of the morning. It will take some serious adjusting to get used to this time zone.

"Soul, are you _sure _you're going to be able to drive when it feels like twenty-four hours since you last slept?"

"Uh-huh. Besides, if you want to shell out the million dollars it will cost to take a taxi from London to Cambridge," he bites, clearly irritated with her for constantly bringing up how fatigued he is, "then be my guest. But since we have a shared account, that's still probably not going to help."

"Fine." He's going to be a bitch by the end of this, and she knows she won't even be able to find it in her heart to be mad at him.

* * *

><p>The man stares down at the body of the kid, his face showing a conflict of emotions as he pulls his thick coat closer over his chest. He knows it is only a matter of time before officials will arrive on the scene, likely from Shibusen, and he can't be here when they get here. Still, though, he's going to need to make a call about this to his employer.<p>

"_What is it?"_ the other man asks, sounding slightly irritated for being bothered. "_You know I'm busy organising the big event. Did something happen?"_

"You could say that, sir," he replies, his eyes travelling along the girl's neck to the shredded ribbons of skin over her chest which are barely covered by her light red hair. Just above her is a little floating blue-white ball. He knows what this is and he can't help but lick his lips to keep himself calm. The other girl, the weapon, is lying in a similar position nearby. "I've been followin' them 'round like you told me to an' it looks like somethin' fucked up on their job."

_"What do you mean?"_

"Well, sir, they're dead. An' I don't think they got the soul they were huntin' down before they left, 'coz it seems to have made short work of 'em."

There is a surprised pause before his employer laughs coldly. _"Ah, so the mighty Shibusen fighters have fallen this time, have they?"_

"Yep – there ain't anything left but the floatin' blue souls, sitting above 'em."

"_Wait, their souls are still there?"_

"Uh-huh. You know, sir, they look kinda' weird. Have you ever seen one? They're all fuckin' glow-like and . . ."

_"I need you to collect them for me and bring them to me."_

"Wait, _what?_ You want me to go all the way there to you, an' you want me to touch 'em? No fuckin' way!"

"_I will double your earnings if you bring me those souls."_

" . . . 'Kay. But won't someone notice?"

"_They'll think the beast took their souls."_

"Ah, got it. Right, I'm collectin' 'em – guess I'll just stick 'em in my pocket like that albino kid did for now. Why do you want these things, anyway?" The man shudders as he touches the exposed human soul. It feels squishy in his hand, but there is no sort of residue on it. In fact, he can almost hear its power, feel it thrumming against his palm. The soul is warm and cool at the same time, good to touch, and for a moment he pauses as he considers what he is doing and just how easy it would be to remove these souls another way.

But then his boss speaks again and his voice is cooler than the little bright orbs. _"They're proof, if I can use them right."_

"Of what?"

_"That Shibusen and the witches aren't protecting us with as much innocent honesty as they're pretending to be."_

* * *

><p><strong>For anybody who is concerned or querying, don't worry. The other characters are <strong>**_definitely_**** going to be appearing in this story soon. I simply have to build up the plot first and establish all of the particulars about what Soul and Maka are doing. **


	3. Chapter 3

**I do not own Soul Eater or 'Eyes Wide Open' by Gotye.**

* * *

><p><strong> EYES WIDE OPEN<strong>

**by Lisp.**

**-  
><strong>_But it was like to stop consuming is to stop being human,  
>And why would I make a change if you won't?<br>We're all in the same boat, staying afloat for the moment.  
>- <em>'_Eyes Wide Open_', Gotye.

* * *

><p><strong>III – The Singular Bed Incident<strong>

* * *

><p>Kid massages his temples, trying not to snap. He must exercise calm, patience and every other virtue expected of a God and a ruler. Yelling will not help him here, and it will be best to plaster a smile onto his face until this arduous business is over. That is the wise choice, the safe choice – and therefore the choice he does not choose.<p>

"If you don't be quiet, I'm going to ensure you receive detention for the next eight days solid!" he shrieks, interrupting the other boy mid-rant. His conversation companion does not look pleased with this, which is plainly shown by his scowl and crossed arms.

Black*Star rolls his eyes. "There you go, playing _Big-God-Guy _again. I seriously thought we were friends, man, but now I'm not so sure."

"Will you stop being so dramatic?" he snaps in reply, the soothing motions to his skull doing absolutely nothing to halt his temper and his want to snap his friend's neck. Black*Star has been in here for ten minutes now, and for at least nine of those ten minutes his loud voice has been causing enough racket that Kid would not be surprised if Yumi Asuza called from her post in Shibusen's Eastern Branch to ask about the disaster occurring in Death City. "This is a matter concerning the alliance with the witches, and it is of utmost importance! My hand was forced and I already feel guilty enough as it is without you complicating matters!"

"But," the ninja meister says with a distinct whining quality to his voice, "it's my _eighteenth birthday,_ Kid. We all promised that we'd do something big to celebrate it, and I'm gonna' be so fucking mad if you've sent Soul and Maka around the world on some wild goose chase when we're meant to be drinking it up and celebrating me becoming a _man!_"

"Are you saying you weren't already a man?"

"Don't be an idiot. I meant, like, in the eyes of the law and shit."

"That doesn't stop you drinking already," Kid sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He's already had a conference and a stack of paperwork to complete regarding the _Independence_ adventure today, and now this. How had Honourable Father done this work for an eternity? It's been eleven months since his Father's passing, ten since _he_ was appointed as Shinigami-sama officially at the Enthronement Ceremony, and already he feels like tearing his now-symmetrical hair out. "Besides, those two will only be gone for the weekend. They will return by Monday at the latest, as long as nothing occurs to keep them in Cambridge."

"Yeah, but that's the whole point," the other boy says, crossing his arms. "It's Soul and Maka, Kid. Something's _bound_ to fuck up and leave them stranded if they're there. They're, like, a magnet for every single messed-up thing on this damn planet."

He lets out a small chuckle, acknowledging what Black*Star says to be true. "I promise that whatever happens, those two will be back before next weekend so that your party can go ahead. Besides, there is _one_ advantage to the pair of them being sent on this mission, no matter how unhappy they are about it."

"Yeah, and what's that? They have to share a hotel room or somethin', so they can realise their 'undying love' for each other or some shit? Seriously, if they don't get it soon, I'll have to intervene for the good of my disciples."

"It's better than that." The interest blooming on Black*Star's face makes drawing out the secret even better. It is definitely easier to tell him about this than it was three and a half days ago to tell Soul and Maka. The Chop he received for it had hurt so much that he hadn't quite been able to think straight for ten solid minutes. How Soul can endure that treatment every day without developing some sort of permanent brain damage, he will never know.

"What is it?"

"They . . . have to pretend to be engaged for an entire night."

The look on his friend's face is priceless. He pauses for a moment before it dawns on him and then his teeth have sunk into his lip to keep himself from laughing. It doesn't work and a few loud guffaws slip past his clamped jaws. "You've got to be fuckin' kidding me!"

"It's true."

"Oh man, I bet Maka kicked your ass."

He nods, rubbing his head as an afterthought. "I was glad that it was her, in all honesty, and not Soul."

"Why?" he asks, still grinning from ear to ear. "She packs more of a punch than Soul; he won't hit any of us unless we've really pissed him off, and then he usually doesn't use enough force to do serious damage because he doesn't wanna' hurt us too much. Maka, on the other hand . . . goes in for the _kill_."

"Yes," Kid agrees wryly, "but _Maka_ doesn't sprout deadly scythe blades from her forearms whenever she gets too pissed."

Black*Star considers this before shuddering. "Teamed up, they could kill the whole lot of us. Anyway, is that why you called me in here, to tell me about the _newlyweds_? 'Coz if so, it's fuckin' brilliant."

"Actually, I have a mission for you and Tsubaki. Why isn't she here with you, anyway?" he asks with a small frown, finally having enough quiet in the room to notice the absence of the tall Japanese girl. "I asked for the two of you."

"Tsubaki has the flu, so I made her stay home and rest today before she lets herself get worse. It's all good if you wanna' give a debriefing, I'll just pass on all the information to her when I get back to our place. What kind of mission is it? Many opponents?"

"It's an interesting one. You're to go to New York and hunt down a mob organisation which has been descending into the status of 'tainted soul' due to its recent interest in collecting human souls as debts instead of cash. It is affecting its clients, who are being forced to kill, and it's thought that the head men are consuming the souls."

"So it's like Capone all over again?" he asks with feinted scepticalness. Kid can see the excitement behind his eyes at the prospect of such a large amount of opponents. Given his abnormal, Godly skills, Black*Star does not often find a challenge in his battles, so a drawn out mission tends to give him some well-needed relief from boredom. "Sounds kinda' tedious, but if you need the Big Man to step in, nothing else can be done."

"I think your skill as an assassin will come in very helpful, because you're going to need to determine the tainted souls from the lackeys, and also ensure that any of the victims who have been forced to murder are not succumbing to madness."

"Wait, isn't telling the difference between souls and stuff Maka's job?"

"She isn't available right now, is she? You will be better suited to such large odds, as well. I can't afford to allow this organisation to run at the rate it is now – if I send you, you can surely defeat such an amount of enemies within a few days at the absolute most."

"So you want to clean out the nest before any other eggs can hatch. Got it." Kid blinks at Black*Star's intelligent analogy, but the blue-haired boy is already continuing. "But when do we have to leave? 'Coz I don't want Tsubaki to be travellin' if she's not well enough."

"I was hoping that you could leave on Sunday night, if possible, which gives you two days to prepare. However, if she's still ill and you don't feel comfortable with going, it can be postponed. I just need it done before next weekend."

"Why?"

Kid grins. "Because you aren't going to be sober enough after your party to go on any missions for a week, and that'll be leaving it too long."

Black*Star nods, laughing. "It's gonna' be fucking _wild_, man." Suddenly, a devious expression spreads over his face. "Speaking of _wild_, you reckon Soul and Maka are gonna' have _fun_ pretending to be married?"

"We can only hope."

"Yeah, 'coz otherwise we're gonna' need a new Shinigami, and pronto."

"Why?"

Black*Star's face contorts almost instantly into a grin. "Maka's gonna' need some sort of stress relief on this mission; it's either she and Soul have so much fun playin' house that they decide to _actually_ get off their dumb asses and do somethin' about it, or your skull's gonna' have a _very_ asymmetrical dint in it for the next year. Once you get one Chop, you _never_ go back."

Kid shudders. He isn't quite sure which is worse – the fact that he may lose his life within the next week, or the fact that his head might be the victim of asymmetrical book covers. There is only one appropriate phrase that he has picked up on from his years of teenage normality for this situation. "Well, shit."

* * *

><p>It is indeed almost seven o' clock by the time Soul and Maka arrive at their hotel, the <em>Varsity Hotel and Spa<em>. It is a luxurious place and Maka can't wait to have a nice massage appointment before having to deal with the stress of the night to come. Either that, or after it, when she's collecting the scraps of her dignity from acting as Soul's fiancée for a whole night. They are in very good room, the highest class; Kid is using Shibusen's finances along with his own mountainous money piles to ensure that their suite makes them look the part for their aristocratic personas. Their room is spacious, the television is huge, the couches look comfortable and the fridge is already stacked with complementary snacks.

There is only one problem.

And that problem is found in the large bedroom. It is colossal and white and very spacious, and it is _singular_.

There is only _one _bed in this suite, and there are _two_ of them.

It's not like they haven't shared a bed before – when Soul's insanity started playing up at night time directly after the moon was engulfed in Black Blood, Maka had no problem with staying in his room. Her purifying wavelength had helped him to get to sleep until he had medication from Stein and a cap on the everlasting madness of the night in his veins.

She trusts him infinitely; usually, sharing a bed with him for a night while they're on the mission won't pose much of a problem, unless he feels like being a dick about it.

But this – this will be different. It's already going to be hard enough to control her emotions considering she's going to have to act out being in love with him for a few solid hours. Now she's going to have to return from an evening of bearing her heart without him noticing, and sleep mere centimetres away from him. This assignment surely is torture, and she's going to let Kid know that in full when she returns. Well, she'll let his skull know, anyway. If it turns out to be a bust, honestly . . .

Should she say something about the bedroom and make a suggestion for one of them to sleep on the couch interchangeably, or will he notice and call her out for acting weird? Can she really let it slide, while she's going to be a cocktail of uncomfortable _feelings_ and shit for these next three days?

It strikes her that it will be the right thing to do if she says something. She can't take advantage of Soul like that, especially while he's under the impression that she shares his mutual feelings of friendship and nothing else. But as she opens her mouth to speak, paused in the doorframe to the grand and _single_ bedroom, he pushes past her and enters the room himself.

She has to give him credit – he doesn't even pause to contemplate the fact that there is only one bed to sleep on. After the long flights and car trip he has just made, he doesn't pause at anything. He simply flops onto the bed without worrying about changing, burying his face in the large plush pillows and letting out a sigh of content. Maka smiles wistfully – he's so adorable, and his tiredness is honestly endearing. For a moment, her troubles fade from her mind and she is content to just watch him get comfortable.

When he squirms around after ten seconds – making her simultaneously embarrassed for staring at him in the open for so long, and glad that he is too out of it to notice – her fond quirk of the lips grows and she shakes her head, going over to him.

"Sit up."

"_No_," he groans, face mashed against the thick pillow and hands splayed out so that he covers the entire double-queen with his arm span. _"'M-gonsterheeferv." _

"You're not going to 'stay there forever'," she replies, easily translating his garbled speech, "if you sleep like that. Roll over."

He does so obediently, already half asleep with his head tipped back. Maka rolls her eyes and sets to work untying and pulling his sneakers off of his feet. Once both have released their grip on him, she sets them down at his side of the bed. Then again, with the way he's spread-eagled, it's hard to tell which side he wants unless one knows his usual sleeping habits. He doesn't stir at all when she removes his socks, knowing that he will wake up after kicking them off if she leaves them on.

_He's probably already asleep_, she thinks. Well, at least she hopes so, because it will make this task a lot less awkward. Once she's put his socks in what she is already deeming the _washing corner_ of the room, she moves up to his face. His eyelids do not flicker and he doesn't make a sound at her approach, leaving her to believe that it is safe to proceed without worrying about his reactions or any snide comments. Gently, she runs her fingers underneath his jacket collar, before her hands disappear underneath it altogether. Keeping her breath held and her face completely neutral, if not slightly red, she sets to work untying and taking off his scarf. It will choke him the second he rolls over. Her hands are trembling slightly at the close contact.

_What is wrong with her?_ She mentally chastises herself for acting like a schoolgirl with a crush. She is seventeen now, she has been Soul's partner for many years now, and she's had to be closer to him than this. Why is it now their faces are so near, she's getting all hot and bothered? Maybe it's the way his jaw has fully squared out and he's filled out his frame perfectly by age eighteen. Maybe it's the smell of leather and aftershave at his neck while her fingers deftly work over untying the loop in the scarf. Maybe it's the fact that she can feel his pulse against her palm.

This is ridiculous – she'll need to be able to hold it together better than this if she wants to convince anyone that they're getting married. With determination in her heart, she leans down all the way, sitting on the edge of the bed and lifting Soul's head slightly as she pulls the scarf free from his neck. She stills when he lets out a little sigh, fearing that he will stir, but he merely cocks his neck to the side to settle better on the pillows. If he doesn't make a sarcastic comment about _that_, then she's surely safe and he's already unconscious.

He really can't sleep in that leather jacket either, because the bed will get damaged and Maka doesn't want to whole thing to smell of his clothes when she sleeps there later. Okay, maybe her mind is telling her that she kind of _does_, in a twisted way, but that is beside the point. He'll whine and groan if his precious garment gets creased, and after the last twenty four hours she won't have it in her to prevent herself from chopping him for being irritating.

And so she finds herself gently coaxing the heavy jacket away from his chest, which is rising and falling rhythmically enough that he will surely sleep like the dead into the afternoon. Getting it off of his torso isn't the problem – it's removing it from his arms that will prove tough. Despite her earlier resolution, her face is covered in red as she lifts him off of the bed slightly. He doesn't even twitch in his slumber, but she is still working as quickly and softly as she can to tug his arms out of the sleeves. Why does this thing have to be so heavy? By holding onto his shoulder and gently moving his arm, she gets the left one out. It's made easier when he rolls over, as if his subconscious knows that she needs access to his right arm. However, this makes his chest bump her knee and his face is in line with her hip.

"_Damn it, Soul,_" she grumbles under her breath in a shaky voice as she hurriedly releases his right arm from its trap. She has to reach fully over his torso to tug the fabric out from under his stomach, and it is at this moment she fears his waking or moving again. If he rolls even slightly, their position will surely become so suggestive and awkward that she may as well throw in the towel right now.

And she calls _him_ the perverted one. _His_ mind isn't dancing with scenarios as she finally takes off the jacket and hangs it up in the closet beside the bed. Then again, he isn't exactly able to scope the situation. Thank Death.

There. The task is finally done, and she can go read a book or, even better, scroll through Karen Salt's file and their own folder about their aliases in order to be fully brushed up on tomorrow night's scheme. It's all good, she's made it through what is surely the first of _many_ awkward encounters with her partner for the weekend . . .

When she's tugging closed the curtains to block the early morning light for him, something glints and catches her eye. Instantly, her mouth runs dry and she drops the drapes.

His _belt_. If he rolls over any more, it will jab into his stomach and probably wake him up. Then, he might point out the bed situation or the fact that she's removed his clothes for him before he falls back asleep again. If he naps it out like she thinks he will, it will be easy to convince him when he groggily awakes that he took everything off himself, but otherwise, he'll know. After all, he wouldn't take off his socks and _not _his belt.

She has to do it. She _really_ doesn't want to do it.

_Fuck this assignment_, she thinks with a growl, and it is clear just how bad the situation is if Maka Albarn of all people is dropping the F-bomb over it.

Cautiously and quietly, she creeps back over to her original vantage point and takes a deep breath. It won't be that bad, right? She doesn't even have to touch him – the belt buckle sticks up slightly and since he's rolled over and loosened it, it ought to come right off. Well, that's in theory, anyway. Gently, she reaches down, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and her willpower turned to not squeezing her eyes shut out of pure humiliation.

Honestly, the things she does for her partner.

He rolls over as soon as her hand brushes the edge of his shirt, which is good because she's practically wrenched her arm back already. She can't do this. He can stab a hole through his stomach, for all she cares.

But then her eyes land on the stupid socks in the corner again and she groans. Shit, she's got no choice. It'll be bad enough tomorrow given the bed thing, and she doesn't need the fact that she's undressing him in his sleep to cloud the already-murky water.

_No, don't think phrases like that!_ Her hand brushes against his hip bone this time and it is so firm under his smooth skin - marked only by the very edge of his scar – that she is forced to bite her lip even harder. Her eyes flick away before she can settle on anything and do something she regrets. If only she could school her thoughts like she does her eyes . . . Too late. She considers laughing for a minute, contemplating the idea of her friends finding out just how much of an inner pervert she is being right at this moment. Then again, with the Thompsons and Black*Star as friends, that is a very unwise idea. This is something too awkward to hash out to Tsubaki even, and that's when it's definitely bad beyond return.

Her hand grabs the edge of his belt buckle again and she steels her will while keeping her breath held again, lifting it slowly. It moves easily, and she only has to tug it slightly to the left before it releases the pin and falls to two pieces. She'll just have to pull it out from under him, and this will all be over. Which side should she go for? Obviously, the one without the buckle needs to come out from under his other side, and she sets off jimmying and occasionally pulling the leather strap, laying her hand on his hip for support as little as is possible. After what is probably only ten seconds but feels like an hour, it comes free and she grins, holding up the stupid belt triumphantly despite the blood heating up her face like a furnace.

She did it! She managed to get the stupid thing off, and he hasn't woken once! Black*Star can suck it, because it's pretty clear who the master at sneaking and being stealthy is now.

After hanging the belt over the edge of the bed, Maka makes her way to the door, still proud of herself for handling the whole situation so well. That is, until . . .

"_Thanks."_ Soul's sleepy sigh is followed by the sound of him rolling over, and Maka freezes where she stands, flinching drastically and gripping the doorframe. _Shit_. Has he really been awake this whole time, or has he woken up and gone back to sleep again?

His wavelength flattens out into its usual sleeping pattern just as she quietly closes the door. It's a good thing her suitcase isn't in the bedroom already but still in the lounge room – she's going to need a shower before she can even think of picking up the case folders now.

His soft sleeping noises stay with her even as she starts the tap, and in the mirror's reflection, it is impossible to miss the large red patches of blush running from her forehead down to her chest. She makes up her mind then and there – after they get back, she is _never_ chopping him for reacting the way he does to Blair again. In fact, with the amount of restraint he shows nowadays, with barely a nosebleed, she might even give him a gold medal.

* * *

><p>She is poring over the files still, her brain tracing words at the same speed as her eyes, when Soul awakens. It is almost two o' clock in the afternoon and she is surprised at his early rising time, before he begins looking in the kitchen and it ticks. Neither of them has eaten anything proper since they arrived at Heathrow Airport, and Soul has slept off anything that might have been sustaining him until now.<p>

Maka herself has been memorising the particulars of their assignment for the last five and a half hours. She has only stopped once to flick around channels on the flat-screen television, but the movie that plays on the screen has not been given one bit of attention and it is now nearly reaching the ending credits.

"Morning – or afternoon, whichever," she says thickly, not glancing up from her papers. Honestly, she can probably recite Karen Salt's personal history from age twenty to twenty six by now, but she doesn't want to look at him; not after the belt-removing fiasco. She doesn't know how much, if any, of this he remembers, but it will be better to operate under the impression that he will remember nothing if she says nothing.

He runs a hand through the mop of white hair that covers his left eye when unsupported by a headband of some sort before muttering out a sleepy response and heading to the kitchenette to pour himself a nice cold glass of water. He is always useless when he first wakes up, unsure of where he is and how he got there. It can be a blessing sometimes when she has pissed him off right before bed time – a near-comatose Soul is not one to hold a grudge.

"Have a nice sleep?" she asks distractedly, setting down the case folder and once again picking up the one containing their alibi facts. It has been a constant back-and-forth war between these two documents these past five or so hours, each one trying to claim more of her attention. She feels like she knows to know all of the information inside back to front, because unlike her partner, she doesn't really know what to expect from the formal event tomorrow night. Sure, she's been to parties full of rich and important people due to her father and her position in Death City, but it's very different when everyone is a weapon or meister, rather than someone disposed to hate both of the former.

Soul sighs and shakes his head, setting the now-empty glass on the bench and licking his lips slowly. "Nope; I'm not the only one who had jet-lag." She knows he's talking about the Oni who invades his thoughts, and shoots him a sympathetic glance which he either does not see or ignores. "You crashed yet, or just been studying those files for the last couple hours?"

"Well, where was I supposed to sleep?" she jokes, but regrets the words once they leave her lips. That will drag attention to the fact that they only have one bed to share, and she'd rather not have to have an awkward interaction with him while he's still looking so dopey and bed-rumpled, and the line of tan skin between his jeans and white shirt is showing while he stretches his arms over his head.

To her surprise, he doesn't choose to remark on their slightly awkward situation. He merely gives her that signature grin and shrugs, apologising. "I guess I kinda' just spread out and took up all the room, yeah. Then again, _you _got plenty of sleep on the plane flights. I thought I was going to die."

"Quit being so melodramatic. Do you want to work on our debriefing and aliases now, or do you want to go get some food? I haven't eaten yet, and you've just granny-napped off all your dinner."

"Excuse me, _Sleeping Beauty_; try driving with your snoring ass in the passenger seat. And is that even really a question? Hmm, I wonder which I'll choose – food or work."

"I'll start laying out the papers now, then, while you get in character for some question-response tasks."

"Go die," he sneers, before heading back into the bedroom. She can hear him throwing around things in his suitcase and rolls her eyes, imagining him making a mess of their room already. _Their room_. The words clatter around in her brain, and she can't say that she doesn't like them.

When he returns with a bunched handful of fabric and a white cotton towel slung over his shoulder, she is already putting away the manila folders. There are some prime eating places here in Cambridge and although her focus hadn't really been on it when she'd mentioned it, now that she has acknowledged her hunger it is all she can think about. Soul laughs, sensing her discomfort through her wavelength, and promises to have a quick shower.

When he is dressed and clean, they set off for some much needed food. Surprisingly, though, he insists on bringing the information about their fake identities with them, so he can brush up on what she already knows. She can't say she isn't pleased by his choice; she acts like some kind of proud mother whenever Soul decides to do any sort of educational work.

Then again, she doesn't want to act like a mother tomorrow. She needs to act like a fiancé, and the thought of the looming challenge is enough to kill her hunger stone-dead. No matter how many times she reads through those folders, one problem will remain – she doesn't know how to pretend to be in love with him.

How can she pretend to be something she already is?

* * *

><p><strong>I'm so sorry about the late update! Happy Valentine's Day. <strong>


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